Bread and Circuses
by brokenbottleaurora
Summary: Circus!AU in which magic does not exist. Despite counting him as good as family, Harry Potter hasn't seen his "Uncle" Sirius since he was orphaned at the age of eight. Harry runs away from the group home a week shy of his eighteenth birthday without any real plan. What happens when fate intervenes to bring a family back together?


**Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition**

**Wigtown Wanderers, Seeker**

**Prompt:** "We're a clumsy family, we make mistakes." Russell Howard

**Word Count:** 2942, per GoogleDocs

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**MC4A Challenge Block**

**Stacked with:** QLFC (Season 7); MC4A (BAON; ToS; Shower; Fence; Star; SN); Spring Bingo

**Individual Challenge(s):** Short Jog; Advice from the Mug; Seeds; (all the Individual Challenges you are submitting to)

**Representation(s): **Long-Lost Uncle; BC Use; 18th Birthday; Spilling Secrets; Circus Arts; Neglect

**Bonus Challenge(s): **Mouth of Babes; Tomorrow's Shade; Second Verse (Found Family; Nontraditional; Spinning Plates); Chorus (Rediscovery); Demo (Some Beach; Mermaid)

**Tertiary Bonus Challenge(s):** SN (Ameliorate)

**Word Count: **2942

**Space Address: **4A

**Prompt: **Love

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**Author's Note:** This is a Circus!AU in which magic does not exist. However, there are little bits that I included from the HPverse (i.e., Sirius being called "Padfoot"). I don't have any real intention of including a backstory for those tiny things simply because this story so heavily parallels the actual HPverse. They're really just for fun and not essential to the story, so you'll have to use your Potter knowledge to recognize them—like little Easter eggs!

Also, just a heads up that this story contains lengthy discussion of poor foster care experience/negligence, abandonment, and parental loss. If you think that might upset you, there's no shame in clicking the back button. Thanks for stopping by!

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**Bread and Circuses**

Harry Potter slung his backpack over his shoulder and looked back at his home of the past 10 years. He'd left a note for Mr. Snape, who ran the group home, but Harry didn't think the greasy, hateful man would care that he'd run. In fact, he probably wouldn't even report the disappearance if he could get away with it. That suited Harry just fine.

Giving the house the two finger salute, Harry mounted his bike and left his past in the dust. He pedaled into the growing dawn without any destination in mind, allowing himself to revel in the freedom, _true _freedom, tingling on his skin. The feeling was nothing short of magic.

Hunger kicked in and broke the spell around lunch time. Harry hated to break into the small cache of tinned he'd managed to sneak from the group home, so he pressed on, ignoring the gnawing in his stomach—it was nothing new to him. Hunger, pain, grief, and anxiety had been his frequent companions over the last decade. When he thought about his life, sometimes it had felt like shitty hands were all Fate had in her deck.

But, _sometimes_, Fate smiled on him instead. A small village appeared on the horizon, and Harry pedaled harder toward it. He'd intended to go straight to the grocery and use part of his meager savings on more non-perishable food, but the smell coming from the first building on the edge of town stopped him cold. _Fresh bread_.

The old woman behind the counter—_Minerva_, her name tag had said—was stern, but she clearly recognized the desperation in the eyes of an underfed young man. He bartered a day's worth of odd jobs around the shop for lunch and a couple loaves of bread. At the end of the day, she loaded him down with as many baked goods as he could carry on his bike. He swore there might have even been a real smile on her face as she watched him ride away.

He chased the sun until it finally faded from the sky, at which time Harry found himself in a rural area that was mostly farmland. It looked like he would be roughing it for the night. When he found a field that had been left unplanted for the season, he slipped behind the hedgerow, hid his bike in the weeds, and dug a nest in the base of the hedge, apologizing to the garden snake he disturbed. The moon was bright enough that he could still move about easily. Harry dug through his bulging backpack and, as he did every night, pulled out his photo album.

_Photo album_ was probably too generous a term. It was really just a dozen or so photos tucked into the pages of his mother's old diary. Some nights he would read a few entries from it, especially those that talked about him because they reminded him that, for a little while, he'd had a loving family. They made him feel less alone.

But tonight he just stared at the pictures. There were photos from his parents' wedding, family photos, silly snapshots, and a vacation photo at the beach. He treasured them all, but the last two were the most special to him. The first was their last picture as a family, a Polaroid in their group Halloween costume. Later that night, his parents had been killed in a car crash that had miraculously spared him, leaving him with a jagged scar that split his forehead as a constant reminder. The other was a photo of his parents with a man he had called Uncle Sirius—his "circus uncle."

Though he'd only been eight when they died, Harry knew that James and Lily Potter had met at the circus. James was an acrobat and trapeze artist, and Lily had been amazed by his bravery and flair. She asked for his autograph, he asked her for a date. A year later they were blissfully married with Harry on the way—at least that's what Lily's diary said. Uncle Sirius was James' best friend from the circus, and he'd been at every birthday party, every Christmas, and family dinner whenever he had time off from the circuit. Sirius had been a second father, a constant in Harry's life until, shortly before his parents' deaths, he suddenly _wasn't_. Harry still wasn't sure why Sirius had disappeared so abruptly or why he'd never tried to find Harry after the crash, but he hoped he'd get the chance to ask someday.

With a sigh, Harry tucked the book back into his bag alongside the bread Minerva had wrapped in today's newspaper. He went to close the zipper when an advertisement caught his eye.

The bright colors and playful font on the traveling circus ad had drawn him in, but they faded into the background as Harry looked closer at the accompanying photos. There, wrapped in chains and grinning like a madman, was their escape artist. Uncle Sirius. He looked much older, his face lined and hair streaked with gray, but it was definitely him. After all this time…

Harry didn't even have to think about it. He'd do whatever it took to get from eastern Surrey to—he checked the bottom of the ad—Devon by Friday afternoon. He _had _to talk to his parents' former friend. There were a lot of questions that he needed answered.

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Harry rode like a bat out of hell for the next five days. He only stopped when absolutely necessary, rising with the sun and riding into the night for as long as the moon and streetlights would allow.

He skidded into the parking lot outside Chudleigh where the circus tent had been pitched just as the show was about to start. Though he didn't have enough money for a ticket, Harry put on his best "I belong here" face and joined a group of stragglers walking into the small, temporary arena. He found an empty seat in the back row and settled in for the show.

The performance was riveting from start to finish. The red-haired trapeze artists moved as if they'd been doing acrobatics together their entire lives, and he found both the lion tamer and the human cannonball incredibly brave and entertaining. In Harry's opinion, though, Sirius had stolen the show when he escaped from a chain-wrapped cage while underwater.

As the jabbering crowds trickled out of the arena, Harry slipped around to the back and just watched. In the midst of the crew packing the props away, a very large, hairy man led the elephants, lions, and other animals back to their respective cages. The various performers were hanging out in their circle of trailers, laughing and eating and celebrating another show well done. Sirius was smack in the middle of them.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he slowly started backing away. What was he thinking? He couldn't just waltz up to this man and say, "Hello, how are you, remember me, or did you just forget about me for the last ten years?"

Before he could flee, Sirius' eyes flicked over to where he was hidden in the shadows. In a matter of seconds, the older man leapt to his feet and had his hands on Harry's arms.

"Harry? Bloody hell, is this real?" the man whispered, looking into Harry's green eyes as if trying to spot a lie. "Tell me that you're actually here."

Sirius' eyes were grayer in person than they had appeared in the photograph. It was all Harry could think now that he was finally face-to-face with the one person he'd wanted to find and desperately needed to talk to. He couldn't form the words for a simple sentence, and Sirius didn't seem to be handling the shock any better.

It caught them both off-guard when a heavily scarred man approached them and clapped a hand onto Sirius' shoulder. "Who's this, Padfoot?" The man glanced over at Harry and then did a double take. "Blimey! He looks just like James!"

"You knew my father, too?" Harry breathed.

The man nodded slowly, the wheels clearly turning in his mind. "I did. My name is Remus. I've been the PR and management guy with the Circus of the Phoenix for over twenty years. I take it you've already met Sirius?"

"A long time ago," Harry whispered, finding his voice as he turned back to Sirius. "How could you just forget about me? Why did you stop being a part of our family? Why didn't you look for me after they died? Why—"

While Sirius stood slack-jawed, Remus cut Harry off. "Harry, I think the two of you have a lot of catching up to do, but perhaps it would be good to give Sirius a moment to rest and gather his thoughts. Could I offer you a tour while he freshens up?"

As much as Harry wanted his answers immediately, he could see the wisdom in Remus' offer. He nodded and followed him.

They'd barely gone two steps when a hurtling mass of brown frizz accosted them.

"Remus! I need those receipts signed and logged before we ship out," a feminine voice said from under the hair. "We don't want a repeat of the Wembley fiasco, and—!"

Remus pressed a finger to the young woman's lips. "Breathe, Hermione. I just dropped them off in the office. Harry Potter, meet Hermione Granger, top-notch accountant and organizer extraordinaire. We honestly wouldn't be able to do anything without her keeping us together."

Hermione first blushed at Remus' compliment and then turned to study Harry intently. A look of recognition washed over her face. "Harry Potter? Are you any relation to the James Potter whose picture is hanging in our office? I've read all about him and how he helped Mr. Dumbledore start this show and—"

Remus' finger stilled her mouth again, and he chuckled. "Hermione is also our resident historian. Is Albus still in his trailer, 'Mione?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No, he's gone out to meet a friend, but you still haven't—"

"Must be going, thanks for your help!" Remus called over his shoulder as he tugged Harry away.

The rest of the tour was a whirlwind of names and faces and stories. Arthur and Molly, the show's magic act, had apparently raised their seven children as part of the circus. Ron and Ginny, their youngest children, were the amazing trapeze artists from earlier. Then there was Fred and George, the twin geniuses behind the incredible pyrotechnics and special effects in the show. Hagrid was the enormous hairy guy who took care of the animals, and he clearly had a heart of gold. Neville, the lion tamer who had seemed so bold, was actually rather shy and stuck close to Luna, the girl who apparently believed in fairies and let elephants put their feet on her head as part of her act. Harry couldn't get the soot off his hand from his quick introduction to the human cannonball—Sean? Seamus? And he still had yet to meet the elusive owner and ringmaster of the Circus of the Phoenix, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Along the way, Remus managed to feed Harry dinner and tell him several stories about his father, which helped the evening pass quickly. Before long, night crept over the camp, and Harry could wait no longer for his conversation with Sirius.

"I suppose we should do this now," Sirius said, gesturing toward his trailer.

Harry followed him to a small trailer filled with heaps of dark clothing, odd bits of rope and chain, and old newspapers. Sirius made them each a cup of tea and then sat down at the tiny kitchen table with a sigh.

"I suppose I owe you a very good explanation and an even better apology," Sirius said, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I think the last time I remember seeing you was your eighth birthday. You were _so_ excited about the lock pick set I got you, and I was ecstatic to think that I could finally teach you some of my own tricks."

"It's one of the best skills I had while I was in the group home," Harry muttered.

Sirius' gaze dropped to his shoes. "I never wanted that for you. I wanted to take care of you, to raise you like your parents had indicated in their will."

Harry's ears perked up. He'd never known that his parents had a will.

"I was leaving circus life behind. I was going to get a real job so that I could be the parent you deserved. I was so close to that when I had a little, um, run-in with the law," Sirius continued. "That stupid decision cost me two years in prison. When I got out, no one wanted to hire me. The only job I could get was coming back here, and no court would have allowed a convict like me to take you from a home and raise you on the road as part of a traveling circus. On the other hand, I had a family here that accepted me and loved me despite my mistakes, and I would be able to do a job I loved. I had the chance at something good after I lost almost everything. There was really only one thing I felt I _could _do. I let you go. I hoped you would live a happy life without me. I didn't hunt you down and find a way to be part of your life, and I've regretted it every day since then. You deserved more from me, and I let you down. I am _so _sorry, Harry."

A thousand emotions flooded Harry's body at once. Anger at being abandoned, relief that he'd not been forgotten, grief for what Sirius had been through, resentment that he'd been denied another chance at a family, rage that he'd been sentenced to a decade with the horrid Mr. Snape. Harry tried to hold back the tidal wave of words on his tongue, but to no avail.

"But you always said _we _were family, Sirius. You left me to grow up in that damn group home and spent the last ten years living the life you loved." Harry swiped away the tears he'd sworn wouldn't fall. "You got to live your perfect life with your perfect little made-up family while I got none of it."

Sirius stared at him for a moment and then snorted. "You think this life, this family is perfect? I'm on the road more than 300 days a year in this tiny trailer. Because of that, I can't date seriously, so I've lived for a decade with no one but the people in the show for company. And these people? They're as much of a mess as I am. Remus is a PR genius, but it's hard for him to harness that genius on the days he can barely get out of bed. Hermione is an actual genius, but she knows it and won't let you forget it. Arthur and Molly are sweet, but they're nosy as hell. Ron and Ginny are great as long as they aren't at each other's throats, which happens regularly. Luna is flaky, Neville is too quiet to hold more than a five minute conversation with, and Fred and George have blown up three different trailers in the past eighteen months. Theirs catches fire so much that the first thing people learn in orientation is the location of every fire extinguisher in the camp. And don't even get me started on how Dumbledore tries to manipulate you every time he breathes in your direction. So no, we're not perfect, not by a long shot."

Sirius took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Harry, we're a… clumsy family. We make mistakes, we fight, we get on each other's nerves. But at the end of the day, we always have each other's backs, just like your parents and I did. _That's _what I needed after I got out. And as much as I wanted you to be a part of this family with me, I knew it could never happen. Again, I'm _so _sorry for that."

Harry's eyes threatened to spill over again. "All I've ever wanted is a family like that. And while I'm glad that you've found it, it hurts to know that _I _can't have that."

An odd grin broke out on Sirius' face. "But you can. Harry, if you want to stay with us, you're more than welcome. I don't care if it's for a week or a month or a decade, I want you here if that's where you want to be. Even if it might look a little different, I'd love nothing more than to work on us being family again. We'd just have a little more extended family thrown in, too. Is—is that something you might want?"

He was stunned. It seemed too good to be true, realizing that the closest thing he'd had to a godfather not only missed him but wanted to welcome him into this family. Given all that he had to gain and how little he had to lose, Harry couldn't see the downside. Sure, there was a lot that could go wrong, and it might all blow up in Harry's face. But he was learning that that was just life—messy, uncertain, and clumsy. And after all, what was life without a little risk?

"Yeah," Harry replied around the lump in his throat. "I think it might be just the thing to try."

He couldn't help but mentally tack on, "_And a happy eighteenth birthday to me."_

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**AN2:** To make this story fit QL's word count restriction, I actually cut a full scene of Harry's interaction with Minerva. If people are interested, I'll gladly polish it up and post the outtake as another chapter. If not, I'll just enjoy having written Minerva as a baker. Either way, thanks for reading, everyone!


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